


Cigarette Daydreams

by CarpeVesper



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 18:33:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17751251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarpeVesper/pseuds/CarpeVesper
Summary: "Tim hadn’t realized it at first, but the sickness affected each person differently ... He realized Jay’s paranoia seven minutes after meeting him and figured out that it was a result of the illness seven days later. It took him longer to recognize the second, more peculiar symptom.The cold."





	Cigarette Daydreams

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this by the fantastic [realityrewind](http://realityrewind.tumblr.com) on tumblr, please check them out!

Tim hadn’t realized it at first, but the sickness affected each person differently. Of course, he had never had the chance to figure that out. His extended hospital stays left him with little time to interact with anyone, let alone someone suffering a different version of his same condition. He couldn’t remember if Alex was always like that— rude and snappish— or if it was that thing’s influence on him, even back then.

His past aside, the more time Tim spends with Jay, the more he learns about him and, as a result, how the illness affects him.

It comes mostly in paranoia.

The camera may as well be an extension of Jay’s hand, considering how often he has it with him. Morning, afternoon, and night, day in and day out, every hour, minute, and second, Jay films. If he’s not filming, he’s changing the tapes, setting the camera up on a tripod, fiddling with the flip screen. He can’t sleep without its faithful lens and blinking red light watching over him, his own personal guardian angel.

It annoyed Tim at first: too many raised eyebrows, too many distrusting scowls, too persistent of a blinking light in the room's corner while he tried to sleep. But Jay says nothing of his constant cigarette breaks or the hourly rattle of his pill bottle. So he tolerates the camera.

He realized Jay’s paranoia seven minutes after meeting him and figured out that it was a result of the illness seven days later. It took him longer to recognize the second, more peculiar symptom.

The cold.

Not that an icy air followed Jay or anything like that. Cold as in his actual body temperature. He shivers beneath several layers of clothing. A constant red tinge adorns his nose, his cheeks, the tips of his ears. Once, as Tim handed him a bag of chips in a fluorescent-lit gas station, what would be their meal for that night, their fingers brushed, just for a moment. Jay’s fingers had been ice-cold like he had died several weeks ago and all the blood had left his body. Tim noticed it first then. Now, whenever they happen to touch by chance (bumps were inevitable living in such close, constantly changing quarters), Tim hyper-focuses. So far, everything he brushed, hands, arms, elbows, has been similarly cold to the touch.

Tonight, in a familiar scenario, Jay sits on his cheap motel bed, editing another video he'll send to the internet. Tim doesn't enjoy that he shouts damn near every one of their actions to the digital world, but he can’t stop him. As annoyed as it makes him, he finds bitter solace in that, if they die, at least someone will know what happened to them and why no one could find their bodies. 

Jay sniffs, wipes his nose with his sleeve, and continues typing. His cheap, itchy motel blanket swaddles him, leaving the smallest possible gap for his face and arms to stick out. Based on the brown sleeves Tim can see, even underneath all that, Jay wears his jacket. He still shivers.

“How’s it coming?” Tim asks. He sits on the other equally cheap motel bed, fiddling with his lighter, watching the fire appear and disappear. Maybe it’s a fire hazard, but Tim can't bring himself to care. They’ve got more pressing issues than a few flames, the first being that Tim is _starving_. It’s well past midnight, and he hasn’t eaten anything since the afternoon. There’s a 24-hour convenience store a five-minute walk from their motel, and Tim would have already gone if it weren’t for Jay still editing.

“It’s fine,” Jay replies, tapping a few more keys. 

“How much longer?”

Jay shrugs. “Fifteen minutes, maybe? Then after than rendering and uploading.”

“And how long is that gonna take?”

Jay shrugs again. “I dunno.”

Tim throws his head back and groans. He can’t wait any longer. It feels like his stomach will digest itself soon. 

“What’s wrong?” Jay asks, pausing his typing.

“I’m _hungry_ ,” he complains.

“Oh, well, it shouldn’t be too much longer for me to finish—”

“Can I just? Go to that store on the corner?”

Jay pulls a reluctant face.

“Come on,” Tim says, “I’ll be there and back, twenty minutes, tops.”

Jay doesn’t want Tim to leave him alone. He can see it in his face. “I—” Jay begins.

“Unless you want to stop editing?” Tim offers.

That does it. Jay stops his sentence, and the gears turning in his head are practically visible as he weighs two conflicting desires against one another: his need to finish his videos against his need to not be left alone. After several seconds of deliberation, Jay sighs. “You go ahead,” he says.

Victory. 

“Alright,” Tim says, hopping off the bed and stepping into his shoes. He grabs his jacket off the nightstand and pulls it on, patting the pockets to ensure his meager possessions are still there. His wallet, his keys, his phone, his pills, and a pack of cigarettes are there, same as always. “You want anything?” he asks.

“Uh, chips?” Jay asks.

“On it,” Tim says, already halfway out the door. “I’ll have my phone on me. Call if you need anything.”

“O-okay,” Jay says, and the door closes.

The smell of ammonia and artificial vanilla air fresheners hangs heavy in the hallway, and a cold blast of air hits Tim in the face as soon as he steps outside. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself. As he walks down the lonely sidewalk, he stuffs his hands in his pockets and curls a fist over his keys, letting the prongs stick out between his fingers. Nothing had happened in the past week, nothing _should_ happen, but Tim isn’t going to let his guard down. 

He’s painfully aware of every breath, and his eyes keep darting to the corners of his vision. The seven-minute, thirty-five-second walk feels like much longer. He tries to pull out a cigarette to calm his nerves but finds his pack empty. Dammit.

When he finally arrives at the store, the bright lights and the warm rush of air make him feel like he entered a holy place. The cashier, an older man, looks up from the glossy magazine and scowls. Tim considers making a sarcastic comment but decides against it. It’s not worth the trouble. 

He makes his way over to the snack section. While he scans through the shelf, trying to find the cheapest bag of crinkle-cut chips because he knows it’s the kind Jay likes, his phone dings in such quick succession that Tim mistakes it for a call at first. But it’s not a call; it’s Jay.

_tim_

_tim_

_tim_

Tim furrows his eyebrows, pecks in a response. _I’m here? Is something wrong?_

_nervous_

Tim sighs. Holding his phone one-handed, he plucks a bag of chips from the shelf and navigates his way to the aisle's end. _Did you finish the video?_

_uploaded_

Tim mulls over his selection. It’s between the $1.99 bag of almonds and the $1.75 bag of peanuts. He’d prefer the almonds, but his wallet has become lighter and lighter the longer he and Jay have spent on the road. Peanuts it is. _Then just go to bed_

_i can’t do that_

Tim sighs, tucking the snacks under his arm. _C’mon, I’ll be back in just a few minutes, and I know you spent all night editing. You need to sleep._

_tim_

Tim gets it, he really does. But Jay needs his rest, and he needs to be able to leave for more than a few minutes without drowning underneath a wave of texts. _I’ll be back in just a few minutes I promise. Just go to bed. It’ll be fine._

_…_

_fine_

_if i die i’m blaming you though_

Tim blows air out of his nose. It’s not really a laugh, because he doesn’t find it that funny. But he knows gallows humor is one of the ways Jay copes, so he doesn’t say anything more. Pushing any morbid thoughts from his mind, Tim casts a glance behind the cash register and its surly attendant, glimpsing the signs showing the cigarette prices. The cheapest brand is $3.75 a pack. He might not have enough to buy them and food, and _damn_ that’s a depressing realization. 

Pulling out his wallet, he pokes around and tallies up the single, wrinkled five-dollar bill and the coins rattling around. His sparse pocket change amounts to just barely enough to buy him everything. Thank god.

“Could I get a pack of those?” Tim asks, pointing to the sign as he approaches the counter and sets the food down.

The cashier shoots him a glare as if Tim has somehow insulted his entire family. He turns around, grabs a pack from the shelf, and throws it down next to the other items. A look somewhere between disinterest and disgust on his face, he scans the items, punches some numbers into the register, and bags the items. “$7.49 is your total,” he says.

Tim places his money on the counter. The cashier looks down at the pile of coins, scowls, and looks back up at Tim. “Are you trying to give me an ulcer, kid?”

A lick of anger swells in Tim’s chest. “It’s all I have,” he says.

The cashier mutters to himself but begins counting the change. When he finishes, he hands the bag back over the counter with a sneer. “Smoking kills,” he says.

Tim puts on the least sincere smile he can muster. “Thank you, sir,” he says, snatching the bag away. He knows damn well it won’t be the cigarettes that kill him.

He spends the walk back alternating between smoking and eating peanuts by the handful, staving off the hunger eating his stomach. A hazy fog of anger fills his head. People sneer down and him and Jay knowing nothing of what they’re facing, of what they’re going through. His whole life, people looked down on him as some sad, delusional boy, someone who they either must stay far away from or regard with a detached pity. Both then and now, it makes him want to scream, to lash out, to do something to release the anger inside of him. But that wouldn’t exactly help his image.

His pulse hammers in his throat. He worked himself up; he needs to calm down. Pulling his bottle out of his pocket, he drops two pills into the palm of his hand and swallows them dry. Closing his eyes, he takes a few deep breaths. Soon, the haze clears from his mind, and he feels like he’s back in his own mind once again. Once he stands in front of his motel door, the peanuts are gone, and only a glowing stump remains between his fingers. Dropping it on the sidewalk just outside his door, he stubs it out with his heel before entering.

“Jay,” Tim whispers, quietly pushing open the door. “I’m back.”

Nothing greets him beyond soft snores. Tim’s a bit surprised, honestly. It usually takes longer for Jay to fall asleep than that. He steps into the room and what he sees is…interesting, to say the least.

Jay is asleep, curled on his side underneath a hodgepodge of sheets and clothing. That itself wasn’t so unusual. But Jay hadn't just taken his own clothes and piled them on himself, he hadn't just taken the sheets from Tim’s bed, he had taken _Tim’s_ clothes and added them to his bizarre nest.

The sight sparks a strange feeling somewhere between his heart and his gut. Tim can’t describe what the emotion is, but it feels as if someone is lightly squeezing his heart and stomach. Beneath the mountain of fabric, lost in the mire of sleep, Jay’s features seem relaxed, peaceful almost. His eyebrows have left from their usual furrowed position, and the dark circles beneath his eyes appear less severe. 

As Tim continues watching, he sees something tucked underneath Jay’s chin, something he clutches with one hand: a piece of red and black fabric. It’s Tim’s flannel. He’s definitely drooling on it, and that should anger Tim, annoy him at the very least but…it doesn’t. The strange feeling in his torso squeezes tighter.

He shakes the feeling off. Regardless of how he feels about his clothes, he’s not sleeping on a bare mattress. Setting his bag down on the nightstand, he approaches Jay.

“Jay,” he whispers.

Jay snores.

Tim presses his lips together. He reaches out and lightly taps Jay’s shoulder. “Jay,” he says.

Jay snores louder.

Oh, come on. Tim sighs and, grabbing Jay’s shoulder, gives him a solid shake. “Jay!” he shouts.

Jay yelps and sits bolt upright, launching most of the clothing off him. He looks around the room, panicked until he sees Tim. Then, his eyes drift to the clothing, Tim’s clothing, and a ruddy red color leaches into his cheeks. “Oh, uh, hey Tim. Sorry, about…this…I was cold, and—”

“Can I just have my sheets back?”

Jay blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“I just need my sheets. I can’t sleep on a bare mattress, Jay.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Jay takes a fistful of sheets and, almost shamefully, hands it up to Tim.

“Thanks,” Tim says, promptly. Not changing his clothes, not even bothering kicking off his shoes, he takes the sheets and falls on his bed, facing away from Jay. He stares at the wall, until Jay's shallow breathing slows, until it becomes snores. The strange feeling between his heart and gut returns, and it feels as if someone is pulling strings tied to his organs. It sticks with him until he falls asleep.

When he wakes the next afternoon, the first thing he notices is that Jay is missing. Fear spikes through his system until he checks his phone. A text from Jay, from just five minutes ago, blinks on his screen.

_went to store and for a walk, back in 10_

Tim sighs in relief. Looking around the room, the second thing he notices is his bag, sitting in the opposite corner of the room, a different spot than it usually is in. Curious, he wriggles his way out of the bed and makes his way over. Crouching down and unzipping it, he finds his clothes neatly folded inside. His red and black flannel sits on top. 

He stares at it for a moment. Then, for reasons he can’t articulate, possessed by some half-thought, he picks it up, holds it to his face and inhales. Though he can sense the smell of his own sweat and deodorant somewhere in the mix, what’s far stronger is a heavy, woodsy smell: pine and sap and something else. It’s distinctly Jay. Tim holds the fabric to his face a few seconds longer, and he contemplates making that the shirt he wears today. 

But what would Jay think? Tim pulls the shirt away. That would be…weird right? Jay was skittish enough last night. And wearing a shirt just because your closest friend drooled on it and now it smells like him isn’t exactly what normal people do, not that Tim’s ever been normal. It would be weird. Shaking off the scent, Tim wads up the shirt and shoves it to the bottom of his bag. It’s just in time, too, because no more than ten seconds later, the door handle clicks, and Jay steps in. A plastic bag hangs around his arm.

“Good morning,” Jay says.

“Afternoon,” Tim replies.

Jay holds the bag out in front of him. “I got us some more food.”

Tim doesn’t know how Jay affords more food on top of paying for their motel rooms, but he isn’t complaining. “Oh, thanks, man. What’d you get?”

Jay tosses him a small plastic bag, which Tim catches and inspects. It’s a pastry: delicious-looking and probably (relatively) expensive. “Oh, wow. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Jay says, already perched on the edge of his own bed. A small cup of cereal in his hands, he eats dry, individual pieces, like a child. Tim thinks he ought to roll his eyes, but instead he feels an odd form of affection. He mulls over his feelings as he eats his own breakfast.

Maybe he’s analyzing his emotions all wrong. Maybe he’s confusing the adrenaline coming from the constant danger hanging over their heads, the constant need to hide and run and hide again with another emotion that leads to racing hearts and sweaty palms.

And why Jay of all people? He isn’t exactly conventionally attractive, he’s a terrible liar, a magnet for trouble, and, most of all, a plain _idiot_ for investigating places he shouldn’t go and people he shouldn’t interact with. Then again, for all his idiocy, he means well. It’s clear when he talks about Jessica that he has no ulterior motive; he truly wants to save her. And, in the moments when Tim panics, when the stress of their situation comes crashing down on him all at once, Jay is always there, asking what was wrong and what he could do to help, and his genuineness shows plainly on his face. Plus, he’s doing his best for a film student in over his head. And his eyes are a lovely shade of blue…. Oh god. Tim’s in deeper than he thought. 

“So,” Jay says, and Tim nearly jumps out of his skin. His thoughts feel so loud, he swears Jay must have heard them.

“Yes?” Tim asks.

“I think we ought to move motels again.”

“Really? Already?”

Jay shrugs. “Yeah. I’ve just got a gut feeling.”

Tim nods. They’ve both learned long ago that, when nothing around them makes sense, sometimes a gut feeling is all they _can_ go on. “Sure, whenever you’re ready.”

“Yeah, just need to pack my stuff up,” Jay says, crunching on a large handful of cereal.

“Yeah, same.”

“Cool. You take your medicine?” Jay asks, tossing his empty container in the waste bin.

“I’ll take it before we go,” Tim replies.

“Alright, just wanna make sure.”

“…Thanks.”

They leave soon after, Jay leading the way. The highway is relatively empty, even for a weekday, which gives Tim far too much time to turn his thoughts over as he watches Jay’s tail lights. He taps his fingers against the steering wheel, half a cigarette between his fingers. Say (hypothetically, hypothetically of course) he thought about Jay in any way other than platonically. What does he have to offer in return? Even if they weren’t under the pressure of life-threatening, eldritch danger, Tim isn’t exactly the greatest catch. He’s ill-tempered, painfully blunt, invariably sarcastic, and has a whole host of problems, not even taking his horrific alter-ego into account. Jay is an awkward idiot, but he’s doing his best and can do far, far better than Tim. Sighing, Tim takes a drag off his cigarette.

They drive the better part of an hour and a half before they arrive at another dive motel. Jay seems to have a knack for finding these places. It’s unassuming and easy to miss, its only redeeming quality.

Not five minutes after entering the room that even the receptionist was reluctant to rent them, Tim can tell that, of all the cheap, run-down motels they’ve stayed in, this one is the worst. Mysterious stains mark the mattresses and sheets, the showers and sinks spit rather than run, and, just to rub salt in the wound, the heater doesn't work.

The front desk meets their complaints with promises of someone coming to fix the heater, and no one arriving. And, with the setting sun and oncoming of night doubling Jay’s paranoia to the point where he flat out refuses to go outside, they can't leave. Tim smokes, trying to bring any warmth into his body. Jay sits on his bed, combing through more footage, wearing two jackets, biting his nails, and shaking.

“Could I have one of those?” Jay asks.

“Sorry?” Tim replies.

“A cigarette.”

Tim looks down at the box, then back up at Jay. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Maybe it’ll warm me up.”

Tim can’t see this ending well. He stands up to hand Jay a cigarette anyways.

“Thanks,” Jay says, putting it between his teeth.

“You have it backward.”

“Oh. Uh.” Jay flips it around. “Like that?”

“You’ve got it.” Tim digs around in his pockets and pulls out his lighter. “Hold still,” he says, flicking on the lighter and lighting the end of Jay’s cigarette.

Jay nods. He holds the cigarette between his fingers, takes a single puff, and immediately falls into a fit of hacking coughs. Tim puts his hand up to his mouth and bites his knuckle to keep from bursting into laughter. “You good?” he manages.

“That is…” Jay wheezes between coughs “…disgusting. You do that every day?”

Tim can’t even say anything. He’s going to laugh if he tries. He nods instead.  
“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jay groans.

“Here,” Tim says, reaching out and taking the cigarette from him. “I’ll take that back.”

“Sorry about wasting one.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll smoke it,” Tim says, putting it between his teeth.

“Isn’t that unsanitary?” Jay asks, so wide-eyed and genuine it makes Tim’s chest hurt.

“Jay, I hate to break it to you, but this is probably the most sanitary thing in this room.”

Jay looks around the room, inspecting the walls and sheets. He makes a face. “You’re probably right.”

Tim snorts. He goes back over and drops down on his bed. Jay goes back to his tape. Tim pretends he's scrolling through his phone, when he’s really sneaking glances at Jay out, ignoring the room's chill and his frozen fingers. But Jay can’t distract himself with combing through tapes forever, and Tim can’t distract himself with watching Jay forever. Soon, it’s clear from Jay’s red eyes and repeated rewinding that his brain is fried.

“Maybe we ought to go to bed?” Tim suggests.

Jay frowns and rubs his eyes. “Yeah, probably.” Reluctantly, he closes his laptop and stands. A wave of shivering washes over him. He rubs his hands across his arms and retreats into the bathroom. 

Tim rolls over and groans; somehow moving makes the cold worse. Kicking his shoes off, he worms his way beneath the thin sheets, curling into a tiny ball. He rubs his hands over his limbs in a meager attempt to generate heat via friction. It’s not enough. Once Jay returns from the bathroom, turns out the lights, and settles in his own bed, he can hear his teeth chatter. A twinge of sympathy pulls at his chest. 

The minutes drag into seeming hours, and Jay’s chattering and his own frigidness take over Tim’s mind. It’s all he can hear, all he can think about. Soon, the whole situation dredges up memories of the hospital, and that’s the final straw. Tim yanks the sheets off his bed and stands up, wrapping the sheets around him.

“Are you awake?” Tim asks.

“Y-yes,” Jay manages.

Tim lumbers over to Jay’s bed. A few beams of streetlamp light stream between the blinds, illuminating the room just enough that Tim can see Jay curled on his side. He's twisted the sheets around himself. Jay looks up at him with a single, shiny eye.

“Scoot,” Tim says.

“Why?” Jay asks, but moves over anyways, loosening his grip on the sheets somewhat.

Rather than giving a verbal response, Tim lifts the sheets' corner and crawls next to Jay, his back to him. He pulls his own sheet over the two of them. It billows up, then settles.

“What are you doing?” Jay asks in a small voice.

“We’re both freezing cold. So I’m sharing body heat,” Tim says. “Unless you want me to leave?”

A terrible guilt creeps in through Tim’s insides, the sudden realization of _what do you think you’re **doing?**_ He's selfish, his brain tells him, he’s using the situation to manipulate Jay. A small, rational part of his brain tells him that his thinking's illogical, that this really is a matter of utility. The larger, irrational part of his brain shouts over it, saying that he’s a terrible person. 

He’s two seconds away from getting out of the bed, running away, faking his death, and leaving the country when Jay says “No, no, it’s fine,” and shimmies his way closer to Tim. “Please don’t leave.” He presses himself against Tim, likely trying to leech off some heat. Tim’s heart swells, then the realization hits him that _Christ_ Jay's cold. The brief brushes Tim had felt before are nothing in comparison; it's like an ice cube is spooning him. Despite every cell in his body screaming to get away from the cold, he doesn’t move. Instead, he lets Jay adjust.

Jay tosses one arm over Tim, leaving the other wedged between the two of him. It’ll fall asleep in five minutes like that, but Tim doesn’t say anything. He pulls himself closer until his front is flush against Tim’s back. From Jay's chest to his legs, it feels as if there is space for nothing between them, not even air. Jay presses his forehead against the back of Tim’s next and exhales, the tension leaving his body. Despite how cold his body is, his breath is warm. 

Within a few minutes, Jay’s breathing slows, becoming soft snores. Tim’s heart hammers in his chest, and he fears it’s loud enough that Jay can feel it. He doesn’t move; he hardly breathes. Jay’s body starts to warm up, going from icy cold to pleasantly cool. Staring at the wall, he watches the lights and shadows wobble as the street lamps outside flicker. The sight is soothing, in a strange way. His eyelids grow heavy, and sleep soon claims him as well. 

When he wakes in the morning, he doesn’t know where he is at first. His eyes are still closed, and he can only pick up the sensations around him one at a time. First, he figures out he’s laying on his side. Then, he figures out he’s on a mattress, warm sheets over him. Finally, he realizes someone is snoring next to him. He opens his eyes a crack. 

Jay’s face rests a few inches away from his own, causing him to open his eyes fully in a half-second of alarm. But soon, his memories of the night before return. Both of them are fine. There is a reason he is in Jay’s bed. The thoughts roll over him like morphine, calming him and slowing him down. He is fine. They are fine. 

Tim spends a little while just watching Jay, the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes, the softness of his features. It calms his still-drowsy mind. After some time, the twitches of Jay’s closed eyes grow more frequent, and he starts to stir. Soon, he opens one eye and makes a sleepy, questioning sound. 

“Mornin’ Jay,” Tim says, sleepy himself, a ghost of a smile creeping onto his face. 

“Huh?” Jay asks, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “Oh, Tim. Morning.” He yawns. 

Tim wrinkles his nose. Christ, he has terrible morning breath. 

“Go brush your teeth,” he says.

“What?” Jay blinks, not fully awake yet.

“Your breath is terrible. Go brush your teeth.”

“Oh, yeah. Sure.” Jay wriggles away from Tim, giving himself enough room to kick away the sheets and stumble out of bed. Tim watches him as he goes, affectionate at first. However, it seems that with every step Jay takes, another bit of dread builds in Tim’s chest, until, once Jay disappears into the bathroom, he’s having a full-blown crisis.

What the _hell_ was he doing? What was he thinking? Sharing body heat? Good god, he’s an idiot. Okay, okay, he can pull himself out of this. He was tired, cold and irrational last night. That would be a plausible enough excuse, right? Yes, that’s reasonable. But what about just now? Easy, he was still tired and not thinking straight. Done, perfect. Within three minutes, he has a thousand excuses and alibis ready to explain to Jay why he acted the way he did, none of them including the slightest hint to any gross, gooey feelings or emotions. It’s a foolproof plan.

Jay steps out of the bathroom, and Tim primes his full-scale explanation. He’s ready for this. He has this.

“So,” Jay wiping the toothpaste from the corner of his mouth. “Are we a thing?”

Tim’s heart leaps into his throat. “Uh, well I mean, not necessarily. It was cold, so sharing body heat was just a good idea, it doesn’t make us a thing, yeah? I mean, unless you’d _want_ to be a thing, which I’d be fine with. Uh, I mean, not that I necessarily feel one way or the other about that, but, I mean, we could talk about it. Or something. What?” Smooth. Dying at the hands of the creature chasing them or even Alex Kralie himself seems the more favorable option than this hot mess.

Jay pulls a face that could either be amusement or pity, and Tim doesn’t know which it is. He comes and sits next to him, and Tim is hyper-aware of where their legs touch, the contact point between their bodies. Tim nearly succumbs to full-on panic when Jay puts his hand on his knee because there’s more touching and they’re so close, so _close_.

“Tim, I’m more than willing to talk about this with you, but I do need to know if you like me back.”

Tim opens his mouth, ready to give another tongue-tied response, but a single word in Jay’s sentence catches him. ‘Back.’ If Jay had ended his sentence just before that, Tim would have had to backpedal, to try and find some justification for his actions. But he said ‘back,’ which implied reciprocity.

“Wait, you like me?” Tim asks, incredulous. “Seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” Jay says. “You couldn’t tell?”

For a few moments, pure glee thrums through Tim’s blood. His heart feels ready to burst, and his head feels light. He feels like a giddy teenager, experiencing the intense, untroubled emotions that only teenagers can, the feelings he never actually got to feel when he was a teenager. “You…You like me,” he says.

Jay nods.

“But…” Tim shakes his head. “Why?”

Jay laughs at that, actually laughs. “Seriously? Well, just off the top of my head, you’re dedicated, you are a _way_ better investigator than I am, you’ve helped me all this way, and you’re good-looking.”

Tim feels a blush spread down from his face to his neck to his chest. “Oh.”

“So,” Jay says with a dopey smile, “do you like me back?”

Tim leans in toward Jay but stops halfway. He looks up at him. “Could I…?” 

Jay leans in, closing the gap between them. Their noses knock together, and the scruff on Jay’s face scratches, but his lips are warm and soft and mint-tinged. They remain that way for several moments, and it might just be the best few moments of Tim’s life thus far. Soon, Jay pulls away, looking at Tim with a glimmer in his eyes. Tim looks back at him with a dazed grin. He feels so happy he feels stupid as if there’s no room for anything in his brain but love, love, love.

“So, I’m guessing we’re a thing?” Jay asks.

“I think you’re right,” Tim replies.

Jay smiles and flops back down on the bed, his arms above his head. “Great.”

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Tim asks, flopping down next to him and resting his forehead against his shoulder. “More tape reviews?”

“I’m sick of looking at tapes,” Jay groans. “Maybe we could just lay in bed all day.”

“That is the best idea you’ve had so far,” Tim says. “Should we try calling the front desk again to get them to fix the heater?”

Jay shrugs. “I think we’ll be fine. You’re enough of a heater.”

“Really?” Tim says, draping an arm over Jay and resting his head on his chest. “Is that some roundabout way of calling me hot?”

Jay laughs, and Tim can feel his heart and breath beneath his cheek. Tim laughs along. He knows that someday, they’ll have to face that thing, in some form or another. He knows that, when they do, it probably won’t end well for either of them. But in this moment, that was irrelevant. In this moment, the two of them existed. They existed in a bizarre amalgamation of fear and comfort, frenzy and calm, cold and warmth, but they existed, the both of them, with one another. And that was enough.


End file.
